


I’m a Mess (but i’m the mess that you wanted)

by IAlwaysGlow



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Friends, College, Developing Relationship, F/F, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-19 16:59:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13708749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAlwaysGlow/pseuds/IAlwaysGlow
Summary: In which Betty's mental health is addressed. Betty/Veronica in college, eventual relationship.





	I’m a Mess (but i’m the mess that you wanted)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Dancing With Our Hands Tied by Taylor Swift because I couldn't help myself. I don't own that song or Riverdale. 
> 
> Warning: Depiction of mental illness. Seek help if you need it!

Afterwards, Betty will joke that it took her having a mental breakdown to get to kiss Veronica again. Veronica will glare in response, and then take her hand and kiss her lips.  
\--  
It’s their junior year at NYU and they’re living in an apartment that’s small and always freezing from an old, usually-broken radiator, but at least it’s got charm and a rooftop that they like to sunbathe on in the summer. Veronica stays in the city for Thanksgiving break. Betty goes home though, spending three nights at the Cooper house before she takes the last bus back to the city, crying against the cold window, forehead banging every time they hit a bump. 

Betty spends two days in bed, bemoaning Alice Cooper and burying her head under her pale pink duvet. On Sunday Veronica can’t take it anymore.

“Get up,” she tells Betty, crawling next to her and pulling the blankets back, “I love you but you need a shower. We’re having a pre-finals get together tonight.” 

“Ugh,” Betty groans, “a party?”

“No, not a party. A get together. Big difference. Come on, we’re going to be spending the next two weeks in finals hell, we need a night of fun.” 

Despite her grumbling, Betty has fun. Veronica doesn’t drink, just plays a good hostess and keeps her eye on Betty all night. She is laughing and Veronica sighs in relief at the sight. At midnight everyone is leaving because it is a Sunday after all, and Betty is wavering past tipsy. She’s pouring another drink as Veronica shows the last person out, leaning against the counter with her eyes dimmed and her lips pulled in a lazy smile. 

“We should go to bed,” Veronica says, “why did we both sign up for Monday morning classes?” 

“You go ahead. I’m gonna stay up a little longer.” 

“B,” Veronica gives her an incredulous smile, “it’s hard enough to get you up for a 9am class, I don’t want to have to try when you’re hungover.” 

“I promise I will get up without yelling at you.” 

Veronica doesn’t believe her but goes to bed anyways, leaving her door open a crack. She falls asleep to the kitchen light pouring into her room. When she wakes, it is still dark outside her window and that kitchen light is now hurting her eyes. It’s 6am, according to her phone. There is commotion, the fridge opening and shutting, water running, cupboards closing, a click of the gas, the rattle of the drawer that always gets stuck. 

She stumbles out of her room, squinting and pulling a blanket around her shoulders. Betty is cooking something. Veronica shakes her head; she knows she isn’t dreaming but this doesn’t quite feel real either. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m making us breakfast,” Betty smiles in a way that Veronica has never seen her do before at least 10am.

“Don’t you think it’s a little early?” 

“I made coffee,” she says, like that’s an excuse for being up at this hour, “breakfast won’t be ready for a while.” 

Veronica sits on the couch, dozing off to the sound of Betty clanking around. 

They eat at 7:30 and take the train to campus. They both have full days of classes and study groups and when Veronica finally gets home that night Betty is typing furiously. The click of the keys is loud and fast and makes her smile because it is a quintessentially Betty sound. 

\--

Things continue like that for the next week and a half; they study and take finals and write papers. Veronica comes home late every night and passes out. Betty is always still awake when she falls asleep, typing relentlessly. One night she finds a pack of cigarettes on Betty’s desk, propped open and half empty.

“You started smoking,” Veronica asks with a raised eyebrow and Betty shrugs. 

“You’re not smoking in here, are you,” she asks, and Betty insists that she is using their sunbathing spot on the roof for late night cigarettes. 

She is going out of her skin. Veronica lays a hand on her shoulder one morning and she jilts and shakes her leg under her desk. She hasn’t been clenching her palms but Veronica can tell she’s been picking at her nails and she taps them furiously on the edge of her laptop. Her voice is always going too fast and Veronica can’t seem to follow what she’s talking about. 

\--

On Wednesday night of finals week a guy is leaving their apartment as Veronica rounds the corner of their hallway. He is young and his clothes are askew, his hair wild. She finds Betty the same way inside, laughing to herself and shrugging coyly when Veronica asks who he was. 

“Just some guy from my Chem lab.” 

\--

On Thursday night when she gets home, Betty has strewn clothes around her room. There are shopping bags and new dresses that Veronica has never seen before. Finals are over, finally, and they have a month free of school. She’d been hoping for a relaxing night in, but Betty sweeps her into the room, excitedly announcing that they’re going out to celebrate. 

“I don’t know,” Veronica groans, “I was kind of thinking we’d have an ice cream and Netflix night. I’m exhausted.” 

\--

Veronica goes out with her anyways, because Betty is wearing a too-short dress with dark eye makeup and she looks so unlike herself that it makes her nervous. She puts on a dress of her own and they go to some club that Betty has decided on. She doesn’t drink because she’s got this nauseated feeling in her stomach. She’s known for a couple weeks now, but now, watching Betty take shots and dance with strangers, she knows for sure that something is wrong. 

It’s after 3am before she can convince Betty to leave and she helps her into the back of a cab. At home, Betty is somehow still rambling despite the amount of alcohol she’s had. Veronica tucks her in and she falls asleep quickly. Veronica thinks that she will be able to sleep too, she is certain that Betty will be out for hours after her rambunctious night. 

But then it’s 6am and Betty is still drunk but animatedly cooking something. She’s wavering around the kitchen, dropping things and giggling. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m starving,” Betty answers, “and I thought you’d be hungry too.” 

Veronica wants to say something. She knows she needs to do something, but she has no idea what. Part of her is tempted to call Alice Cooper for help, but she thinks that would probably just set Betty off more. Instead, she sits at the table and watches. 

“B, are you feeling okay,” she asks quietly.

“Yeah, I’m great,” she says, all cheer and happiness. 

Veronica spends the day chasing after Betty, who is in constant motion. They do nothing important all day and yet they are constantly moving. Betty is baking cookies, then decides to clean out her closet to donate old clothes, then insists they walk 24 blocks uptown to go to this antique shop she went to once when she first moved to the city. At 7 they get home and the apartment is a disaster. Veronica starts to pick up the kitchen from the cookies, but then Betty is pulling out every spice they have in the cupboard to make some new recipe for dinner. 

And then it is all at once that this pressure hits behind Veronica’s eyes and the worst headache of her life is pressing onto her temples. She wants to scream at Betty, and instead she feels tears building up inside her. She slams a dirty baking sheet down onto the counter and Betty looks at her in confusion.

“What’s wrong?”

Veronica closes her eyes to help with the pounding behind them. 

“You, Betty! I can’t deal with you anymore! I’m exhausted and you’ve just running been around like a tornado for weeks!”

She doesn’t mean to yell, but this pressure in her head is dying to escape. She thought it would make her feel better but her head is still killing her and so she grabs an icepack out of the freezer and goes to her room, slamming the door. She sleeps, ice over her eyes, despite the noise that continues outside of her bedroom. 

\--

It’s 2:30am and she wakes up because something feels wrong. Her headache is gone and the ice pack has slid off of her face and onto the bed next to her, leaving a wet spot. Everything is silent. She hopes that Betty finally went to sleep, but everything inside her is telling her to get up and check. 

Betty’s room is lit and her bed is empty. Her phone is on the desk and her purse is on the floor. Veronica checks the rest of the apartment and it is all empty. The worry that is sitting in her stomach fills her up. She can’t figure out where Betty would have gone without her phone and purse; her coat is still hanging on the hallway hook. She’s pacing and thinking and stressing and then all at once she knows. 

She runs out the door and to the stairwell, going up the steps as quickly as she can. The stairs are metal and dirty and cold on her bare feet. Their apartment is on the eighth floor and the door to the roof is on the twelfth, so by the time she pulls the heavy door against her, she is out of breath. It is freezing and there is snow on the roof. She is immediately cold as she looks around for Betty, and then she spots her, forgetting about the goosebumps covering her arms. 

Betty is sitting on the brick ledge, her legs hanging over. A pack of cigarettes sits beside her. She turns around at the sound of the door slamming shut. When she sees that it is Veronica she turns back around to look at the city. 

“Betty,” Veronica says, walking closer. She has never felt fear like this before, not even when there was a serial killer running around Riverdale and she was worried that her father was the culprit, “I’m so sorry for yelling earlier. Please come down.” 

“Don’t worry,” Betty laughs, “I’m not going to jump.” 

Veronica doesn’t know if she believes her and all she wants is to wrap Betty in her arms, to feel her and know that she is safe. 

“Do you love me,” Betty asks. 

That is not what she thought Betty was going to ask, but she answers easily, “of course.” 

“That’s not what I mean,” Betty says, swiveling so that one of her legs is back over the side of the building and the other remains hanging over the ledge, “do you love me?” 

“Yes,” Veronica says, tears now falling down her face. She says it partially because she’d say anything right now to make Betty get down, but she means it. She really does. She’d pictured telling Betty that she loved her a million different ways and this has never been one of them. 

“Why haven’t you ever told me?” 

Veronica will say anything, do anything, to get her down. 

“Come here and I’ll show you how much I love you,” she challenges but her voice is unsteady. 

Betty smirks and climbs down. Veronica lets out a breath that is cold and circles her head. She is crying, still, and shaking from the cold and from this terror. She envelops Betty, grips her arms too tight, and presses her lips heavy against hers. Betty tastes like cigarettes and her lips are icy and dry and this kiss isn’t how it’s supposed to be. When she pulls away Betty is smiling and breathing heavy. 

“Can we go inside now,” Veronica asks, rubbing her hands against Betty’s skin, “it’s like 10 degrees out.” 

“I’m not cold.” 

“I know you’re not, but I’m freezing. Please.” 

“Okay.” 

They’re riding the elevator back downstairs when the smile leaves Betty’s face suddenly. Her mouth opens and she’s struggling to breathe. She can feel tears coming. Veronica takes her hand and squeezes. 

“Bets?” 

“I,” Betty starts, and then her tears are falling, “I’m crazy. My mom’s right, I’m insane.” 

Betty pulls her hand from Veronica’s and presses her palms flat against her eyes. The door opens and Veronica guides her out and around the corner into their apartment. When they’re inside she gently moves Betty’s hands and puts her own on Betty’s cheeks, letting her thumbs wipe away the tears. 

“You are not crazy. We just have to get some help, that’s all. I’m right here with you. Everything’s going to be okay, I promise.” 

Betty nods and Veronica presses a kiss to her forehead. She pulls away and leads Betty to a chair.

“Wait here, I’m going to get dressed.” 

She throws a sweater over her head and puts on a pair of jeans with thick socks to warm up. She pulls her hair into a pony tail and forces herself to stop crying. Be strong, she tells herself, and blinks back the last of her tears. 

\--

They take a cab to the emergency room. By six am Betty is signing paperwork for a voluntary 72 hour hold and they are meeting with the social worker upstairs on the inpatient psychiatric unit. Betty is silent, her left hand loosely in Veronica’s, and then they’re attaching one of those plastic hospital wristbands onto her right hand and telling her it’s time to go back. Veronica wraps her arms around Betty’s neck. 

“I’ll be back right at four for visiting hours, okay?” 

Betty nods and pulls away and then she is gone, disappearing behind the door with a nurse. When the last sight of her blonde hair is gone, Veronica breathes out a sob, clutching the back of the chair to keep herself standing. The social worker brings her a box of tissues and rests a hand on her shoulder.

“You did the right thing bringing her here. She’s lucky to have you as a friend. You should try and get some rest, she’s safe now.” 

\--

Veronica showers off the black on her feet and the smell of hospital in her hair. There are still goosebumps covering her arms, first from the roof and then from hours in the chilled hospital waiting room, and she runs the water so that it scalds her. She sleeps deeply, wrapped in Betty’s sheets, until her alarm wakes her up at 3. 

\--

The psych unit isn’t what she expects. It doesn’t look like movies and it isn’t as scary as she’d been expecting. Veronica sits across from Betty at a table. There’s a large window and the sun is shining onto the linoleum floor. Other people sit at tables nearby but it is quiet. Betty is tired, her hands limp in Veronica’s, her eyes struggling to stay open. 

Veronica visits again, every day for three days, until 72 hours have passed and they’re meeting with the social worker again to make a discharge plan and then they’re taking a cab back to the apartment. It’s almost four when they get home, and Betty showers while Veronica orders them Chinese. They eat on the couch with their favorite cooking show playing. At seven Betty gets up and goes to bed, the exhaustion evident in the way she shuffles to her room, barely able to keep herself upright. 

Veronica stays up until 10, when her eyes can’t stay open anymore. She puts on pajamas and falls into her own bed. Sleep won’t come though, despite the burning in her eyes. She tosses and turns for an hour until she can’t take it anymore and she crosses the short distance to Betty’s room, quietly turning the knob. Betty is asleep, turned on her side in the middle of the bed. Veronica lays down as gently as she can, pulling the blankets up to her chin. 

“I’m fine,” Betty grumbles into her pillow. 

“I know,” Veronica says, “but I couldn’t sleep.” 

Betty doesn’t reply but moves closer to the edge so that there is more space. Veronica scoots in closer. 

“Goodnight, B.” 

“Night.”

\--

It’s four am and something jolts Veronica awake and then she’s looking right at Betty, whose eyes are open and staring right back. They’ve shifted in their sleep; Veronica is on her stomach, face inches from Betty who is on her back. Veronica’s got her arm slung over Betty’s stomach under the covers and it’s warm now, from the proximity. 

“Hey,” Veronica whispers. 

Betty doesn’t answer. It’s dark in the room but Veronica can see the way she’s thinking, her eyes intent and her brow pulled tight. They keep looking at each other, silently, Veronica just letting her think, running her thumb back and forth on the soft fabric just below Betty’s ribcage. 

“Did you mean it,” Betty asks, finally, voice low, “what you said on the roof?” 

Veronica certainly hadn’t thought that’s where Betty was headed and any words she had are stuck in her throat now. Betty starts talking again, quiet still, but a little faster, before she can get the words unstuck. 

“I get that you didn’t mean it. I was being crazy, you would have said anything to get me down.” 

Veronica frees her right arm from underneath her head to where Betty’s hand is laying in between them. She clasps their hands together. 

“I meant it,” she says, even though it makes her heart race and her stomach knot in anxiety to say this secret out loud, “I’ve meant it since the day I met you. I just always knew that you didn’t feel the same way. And that’s okay, B. I’m happy to have you as a friend.” 

“I do though,” Betty says, softly but with confidence. 

“Wait, what?” 

Her thumb that has been aimlessly moving stops and she can feel her blood pumping hard against her chest. Betty squeezes their joined hands.

“I love you, V.” 

“Since when,” she asks, worried that this is some kind of joke or misunderstanding or maybe a guilt that Betty is wearing since that night on the roof. 

“Senior year of high school.” 

Veronica can’t remember ever being so completely lost for words. She opens her mouth but her brain is short circuiting and nothing will come out. 

“Can I kiss you for real,” Betty asks, with more assurance than Veronica has ever heard her have. 

“For real?”

“Our first kiss was for Cheryl Blossom. And our second was to get me off a ledge. We’ve never kissed for us.” 

“Okay,” Veronica whispers. 

Betty smiles, an image of pure happiness, and it’s a welcome sight after the last few weeks. Then she’s leaning over their still-joined hands and kissing Veronica. It’s soft and safe and they’ve both got morning breath and it feels like they’ve been doing this every day for years and it is perfect. 

\--

Not much changes. They transition from best friends to girlfriends so easily it is like they were always meant to be like this. There are kisses and hands held and Betty’s bed gets abandoned for the better mattress in Veronica’s room. 

Betty starts seeing a therapist who is young, like she’s just graduated, but who is kind. Betty leaves almost every session with the remnants of tears on her cheeks but  
a relieved smile on her lips. Veronica goes with her every time, every Wednesday morning at nine. She drinks a latte and reads, and chats with the lady at the front desk whose name is Gail and who thinks that Betty and Veronica are just the cutest couple she’s ever seen. 

\--

It’s a Wednesday in March and it’s unseasonably warm. Veronica is wearing her favorite dress and laughing at something with Gail when the therapist comes back into the lobby, without Betty, and asks Veronica to come back. 

“What’s wrong,” Veronica asks when she enters the room. 

The therapist closes the door behind them and Betty is sitting on a loveseat that is too firm when Veronica sits down beside her. 

“Nothing’s wrong. Betty just wanted to invite you back today.” 

She’s smiling reassuringly at Betty, who turns so that she is facing Veronica. They find each other’s hands easily, like a habit. Veronica is acutely aware that she is nervous; she can’t imagine what words are going to come out of Betty’s mouth. 

“Veronica,” Betty starts, voice shaky. She pauses.

Veronica squeezes their hands and smiles, “you can tell me anything, B.” 

“I’ve been wanting to tell you that I love you.” 

“I know that,” Veronica says.

“No, I mean I love you,” Betty says, her voice breaking and the start of tears in her eyes, “and I want to thank you for staying. For being with me even when I’m manic and climbing up on the roof. And for loving me even though I’m like this. And for not leaving or thinking I’m crazy.” 

Betty is crying now, tears falling freely, and Veronica finds that her cheeks are wet too. She breaks their hands apart so that she can throw her arms around Betty, letting her face find Betty’s neck.

“I love you so much,” she says, her words muffled, “no matter what. Always.”


End file.
